


When Heroes Grow Old

by kellyh000



Series: 00Q fanfiction translations [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellyh000/pseuds/kellyh000
Summary: Bond doesn’t want to admit that he’s old.“Q.”“Double-oh seven.”The moment they intertwined their fingers, they knew that their fate would be tangled together.“Maybe one day he will no longer be double-oh seven, but he'll always be his agent.”
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: 00Q fanfiction translations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767181
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	When Heroes Grow Old

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cete_ruinam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cete_ruinam/gifts).
  * A translation of [当英雄老去/When Heroes Grow Old](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23326855) by [cete_ruinam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cete_ruinam/pseuds/cete_ruinam). 



> This work is originally by [cete_ruinam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cete_ruinam/pseuds/cete_ruinam) . Thank you for letting me translate your story.

“Bond, target’s on the right side of the dance floor. He’s got three men around him and there are guards at every corner. Considering there’s no cover on the dance floor, I suggest you take care of the sniper in the stairwell on the second floor first instead of just jumping into action recklessly. ”

“Copy that,” Bond carefully pushed open an unused, rusting side entrance and tried to be as quiet as possible as he ascended the stairs, holding the new palm print-coded Walther tightly.

Gun in hand, the sniper was too focused on the movements of the dance hall below to hear an approaching double-oh agent behind him, so when he finally heard the sound of a gun being cocked, it was already too late for him.

For tonight’s mission, Bond’s Walther had loaded with new bullet developed by Q branch, which made every single bullet vest on Earth useless. The suppressed gun made no sound, and in the next instant, the bullet went straight through the sniper’s vest and into his chest.

“So I’m not as old as you think.” Bond grabbed the fallen sniper’s rifle, checked the remaining bullets and quickly left the stairwell as he bickered with his husband, whom he had married for three years- Q was still in his ear, telling him that there was a long-forgotten pantry for visitors in the Northwest corner, which provided the best angle for assassination. “At least not that old enough to wheeze and pant after climbing 7 flights of stairs, unlike someone who’s too untrained to keep up the pace during a morning jog.”

“Oh, shut up, Bond.” Q sighed in defeat and pinched his nose. “Otherwise, don’t even think about coming back to my house.”

“You mean _our_ house, my love.”

_Time was a cruel thing, even the best agent, the ageless legend of MI6, James Bond knows this. He won’t admit it, but 007’s response time have delayed several milliseconds, his shooting wasn’t as accurate as it was, and his knees hurt whenever it rained. 007 was nearly fifty years-old now, and the only reason that kept him from accepting M’s advice and retire to enjoy the rest of his life with his lover was what Q accidently slipped out after receiving the retirement requisitioning form from Moneypenny, who wanted Bond to consider his options._

_“It’s understandable ,you know. For someone your age to use phones for seniors.” Q’s gaze was still glued to his laptop. His beautiful green eyes were hidden by the reflecting light of his glasses. The almost-ex double-oh agent who had just finished, reading his retirement benefits and was about to turn the page, froze for a second and narrowed his eyes unhappily._

_“So you’re calling me old now?”_

_“I’m mocking the retirement form in your hand, ” feeling his gaze, Q raised his head and locked his gaze with him. Q was just providing an explanation out of reflex, but he looked like he suddenly remembered something, and lowered his head again with a sly smile on his lips. “But if you’re saying that you’ve reached the age to retire from the frontline, I’m not going to object to that.”_

_Smart-mouthing without discretion resulted in being held at the waist and got French-kissed by Bond._

_The next day, M got the retirement form from 007, with the small words “I think you’ll retire before me, M” written at the edge of the form, and the signature ‘James Bond’ sprawled across it._

_I’m not old_ , the double-oh agent thought as he took out the pieces of the rifle from his pockets and assembled them back together, setting it on the pantry’s window pane. _Even if I could only hit the target center 7 out of 10 shots now does not mean that I’m old. For God’ sake, I’m supposed to wait until Q retires, too—No way in hell am I gonna be unemployed and live by my sweetheart’s salary. He’ll laugh himself to death when he sees me in an apron, cooking dinner at home._

“Bond?” His Quartermaster was urging him from the other side. “You need to hurry up. I did hack their communication system, but it won’t be more than a few minutes before they realize their sniper is checking in a lot less.”

“Of course they will. I'll be quick.” The double-oh agent lowered his voice and quickly finished assembling the last pieces of the rifle, and aimed it at a man who was clinking his wine glass with another woman through his scope. His mission today was relatively easy; the target was just some narcissist who was in the British government’s way. It wasn’t the first time that MI6 sent its finest agents to eliminate people like him.

Christmas was right around the corner, and Bond briefly wondered if Q would drag him to make a reservation on a Christmas tree after he got home tomorrow. “What do you want to do tomorrow? Don’t tell me you plan on going to the mall for the Christmas sales. I’m not going, dear, even if I’m on leave. After all, _old people_ aren’t cut out for Christmas shopping.” Bond could almost picture his lover hugging his arms in exasperation when he emphasized _“old people_ ”.

“Double-oh seven, I’ve already told you-”

“Yes, I know, ‘don’t even think about coming back to my house’” Bond chuckled softly, and turned his attention back to the rifile in his hands. He aimed it at the target who just changed his position. “See you tomorrow morning, hon. Now I need to focus.” After a brief silence, Bond shut his left eye, triple-checked that he was aiming at his target’s chest, and pulled the trigger.

Things went considerably sideways from there.

Bond’s ears started ringing, and in that instant, the noise that came out of nowhere made his pupils constrict and his rifle a few centimeters off. Some shards of the broken glass cut him, and the dance hall was filled with screaming. The target got shot in the shoulder and fell onto the marble floor, hissed in pain, and all the men in black suits who were surrounding the dance floor and almost ignored by everyone started to approach where Bond was hiding.

Bond could hear his lover’ voice yelling his name through his earpiece and the blaring alarms, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He fell on the floor with his head feeling like it was about to explode, and the loud ringing in his head made him feel like someone was poking his eardrums with needles.

_Shit, shit , shit , shit, shit._

Bond cursed silently and curled himself, half-kneeling and retching. His vision was black from the severe pain, and he felt like he was coughing up his stomach.

Compared to the pain, Bond was much more concerned about his almost blind and deaf status. He knew that he had failed his shot, and right now, he needed to pick up his gun again and flee, or just go hand-to-hand with the bodyguards-anything but lying here like a sitting duck.

He tried to stand up, and eventually, he only managed to get back onto his feet, only to succumb to the pain and fell right back against the wall. Considering that he could feel his feet touching the rifle, at the very least, he’s positive that he’s near the window again. The ringing in his ears has dissipated a bit, and he could vaguely hear the Quartermaster’s already-frantic yelling through his earpiece. “Bond! What‘s happening? Tell me WHAT THE HELL is going on ?!”

“Ah…Q,” 007’s vision was still blurred, and he could no longer hear his own voice. His hands roamed around his body, and finally froze slightly when he touched his left breast pocket, and produced a fountain pen from it.

It was a gift Q gave it to him on their fourth anniversary, and had his initials on it. He vividly remembered how he burst into laughter after opening the present, and how Q warned him ‘Keep laughing and you’re giving it back to me’ with his trademark fake smile and pressed lips. He had jokingly asked his lover ‘So can this thing really explode?’, and the reply he got had been ‘Do not underestimate how innovative and creative your boyfriend is, Bond’.

And now, he could only place his hope in seeing the Quartermaster again in his lover, and silently pray that Q didn’t just make this pen as a joke. _Bloody headache_ , Bond swore to himself, _couldn’t you have waited until I took the bloody shoot?_

“I hope you meant it, with the exploding pen.”

Very fortunately, Bond regained partial vision before the guards swarm into the pantry just ten second prior, enough for him to make out the surrounding area to make sure he wouldn’t throw the pen to explode at the wrong place, at the wrong time, so he wouldn’t explode in a dusty pantry, caused by his Quartermaster’s anniversary gift.

He threw the pen just as several black suits had nearly gotten their hands on the door handle, and saw the blinking red light on the pen right before it left his hand. _So it does explode,_ Bond happily thought, _so Q did fulfil my dream._

The only flaw in his plan was that he HAD underestimated how innovative and creative his lover was: the explosion was much more powerful than he had anticipated. He was thrown out of the building by the blast wave. The moment he fell into the water, the atheistic MI6 top agent almost wanted to thank God. There was an artificial lake right at the side of the building where the pantry was.

It was night when Bond woke up again.

His head was no longer hurting, and was wrapped up carefully; his abdomen was bandaged, and there’s a long trace of stitches along his left arm. One of his foot was suspended.

After meeting Q, the secret agent was used to waking up to the sound of keyboard strokes and the overwhelming scent of Earl Grey in the room. He struggled to turn his head, and gave his Quartermaster his trademark smile-and held Q’s hands, which had Q stop all movement in an instant.

“I honestly did not think that was a real exploding pen. An upgraded one, at that.”

“I thought you’d test it the moment you got your hands on it.”

“If that were the case, I’d blown up our house because I won’t know how to turn the thing off.” Bond accepted the water Q passed to him lazily and bantered, “Who saved me?”

“009.” Q answered, despite the look on his face told Bond that he didn’t want to discuss this now. “He happened to be in the same city for a mission, and I redirected him as backup the moment I heard things were going out of control. ”

“Worst thing ever,” Bond’s instincts were telling him that his sweetheart was beyond furious and was at the brink of erupting like a volcano, so he really didn’t mind extending their current topic longer. “Now I owe him one. He’s going to blackmail me with this, trust me, like having me to convince you to make the equipment he wanted.”

“Bond.” Q interrupted him. “the doctor said the sudden headache and nausea was caused by subarachnoid hemorrhaging.”

“Wha……Ah. ” Bond waved his fine hand absent-mindedly. “Never mind, I suppose I’ll need to-”

“Problem is, your symptoms didn’t occur out of nowhere. The doctor told me that it has happened before, repeatedly, James Bond.” Q shut his laptop fiercely, his green eyes raging with fire. “Don’t think I haven’t notice you started to pinch your temple every now and then two months ago!”

“But it’s not like it’s unheard of, my dear Q.” the top agent of MI6 began to feel slightly guilty (which was a rear thing to happen) but still tried to reason with his young lover. “As a secret agent, I think I’m allowed to have some minor physical issues after being in this business for fifteen years. And besides, compared to limping in rainy days, headaches are just a piece-”

He stopped dead, because he saw tears swimming in Q’s eyes.

The Quartermaster took a few deep breaths before speaking up again. “But you should’ve told me, James, you should’ve told me.” He took off his glasses and buried his face in his hands, speaking rapidly, “Christ, for God’ sake, James Bond, we’re married for three years, _three years_ , James. And you never said anything about the-No, Bond, you didn’t tell me about the limping, I _asked_ you. But- Christ, you know headaches are much more serious than bad knees. Much more serious, James, when it’s your brain instead of your joints in pain! Even if you weren’t on a mission, even if you were just driving-can you imagine, double-oh seven? Think of what could’ve happened if you hadn’t brought the exploding pen with you! Maybe I should remind you, Bond, in case you haven’t noticed that after being together for four years, you are not some bachelor who’s ready to die at any second! If you won’t start taking your health seriously, if you-”

After the few minutes of silence, Bond thought that he heard a sob. So when Q raised his head, Bond was relieved that there were no tears in his eyes, but the hurt and concerned fury in place stopped Bond’s heart for a second.

“Hey, Cute-” he held his Quartermaster’s left hand again-it had a shiny wedding ring sitting on his ring finger-and his blue eyes searched his lover. “I’m very sorry, you know it’s not what I meant. I’m just saying that I didn’t want you to worry.” Bond said after a pause and turned the words over in his head. “I didn’t think it would be this serious, you know, I’m just…used to it.”

Q didn’t say a word with his head lowered, and Bond could feel the uneasiness creeping up in his mind. He has been causing trouble from the moment he and his lover met, ranging from losing equipment to disappearing without a trace, but Q had always forgiven him after he came back. He'd throw a major fit, or he’d threaten him with no equipment for him ever again, but he’d always go on and on and on until he’d cornered Bond into apologizing, send him to make his tea in satisfaction, and declare his slate’s clean after Bond returned with the tea and would lazily grant him a kiss.

But he had never, ever seen Q remain in such silence.

Just as he was about to get up to hold his Quartermaster regardless of the bandages, Q stood up and picked up the lunch box Moneypenny brought when she visited this afternoon, and dropped the two-person meal onto the hospital tray table.

“Q?”

“……” Q set his glasses straight, and after a few moments, he sighed. “I know that you didn’t want me to worry, Bond. I’m not that obtuse.” He pressed his lips together for a few times, but he spoke up eventually.

“But haven’t you notice it, James? This is the first time you didn’t complete your mission as 007.” He stared right at the eyes which were blue and beautiful as sapphires, and saw the pupils in them constricted because of his words. “Your target’s dead, but it was 009 who eliminated him. You’re no longer the never-failing MI6 superhero.”

“Bond, you’re already old.”

Bond remained in his bed and opened his mouth, and lowered his gaze.

“Given that the two of us both aren’t exactly good at cooking, maybe we shouldn’t turn down Moneypenny’s kindness. What do you say, my dear?”

He reached out for the fork with a natural expression on his face, and ignored the wrinkled sheets under the clenched fists at Bond’s sides.

M finally stepped into Bond’s hospital room ten days after he woke up, accompanied by Moneypenny. At that time, Q was (following the patient’s strong demand) feeding the MI6’s tough guy, James Bond, breakfast. He retracted his hand when M came into the room, and the action itself cracked his husband up. The Quartermaster gave him a blow with his elbow in return.

 _Had I known better, I’d rather sign a contract with MI5 to provide them equipment and agents for free than sign their marriage application._ M sighed internally, and walked up to Bond’s hospital bed with a document in hand, on which Bond saw his name.

“Double-oh seven.”

Bond swallowed the potato mush in his mouth with effort. “Mmm, any problem, sir?” M frowned at this, but decided to make no comment about it. “If Q’s report is accurate and there’s no ulterior motive involved, this mission was failed because of your sudden physical discomfort?”

“If you must know, yes, sir.” Bond raised his eyebrows. Given that it was the first time he mucked up his mission, he’d rather not talk about it.

“I told you when I assigned you this mission that I gave you a rather easy one, and it will be the last one this year so you could spend time with Q on Christmas, didn’t I?”

“Yes, sir.” Bond did express his hatred regarding Christmas shopping, but it did not affect his good mood for being able to spend time with Q. Even if it meant that he had to go Christmas shopping with Q, despite his protests.

“Good. Final two questions: Will you always remain loyal to England?”

“Of course, sir.” Serving MI6 for fifteen years, 007 frowned and confronted M’s intentions for asking the question in the first place, but answered it without hesitation nonetheless.

“If memory serves, you are, what? Almost fifty? Forty-eight?”

“……”After a brief silence, Bond answered eventually. “Forty-seven, sir.”

“Very well.” M nodded, and handed him the documents in his hand. “Your vacation starts today, double-oh seven.” He narrowed his eyes and glanced at the date on his Rolex watch. “And since I said that the mission will the last one of this year, then let it be it.” He pressed down, and gave Bond, who was stunned in his hospital bed, a brief hug. It wasn’t a typical thing Gareth Mallory would do.

“James Bond, double-oh seven,” and then, he glanced at all the people in the room, and spoke with a tone of a ceremony’s host. Solemnly and gravely, reciting his meritorious service. “is one of the greatest agent MI6 had in history. He is brave, resolute, loyal and preserve, I have never seen all these great qualities on a single person before, and certainly will not be seen on anyone else. Despite the fact that,” he casted a glance at Bond’s suspended leg, “he caused unnecessary loss sometimes, and even stirred up panic by extreme measures to complete the mission, he’s still a hero.”

“People will die, certainly, but heroes never grow old.”

When the room quieted down again, Bond opened up the file Mallory handed to him wordlessly, and the head of MI6 stood upright in the middle of the room, his solemn gaze alternated between the occupants in the room, serious yet comical like a performing street artist.

The file contained 007’s personal file with all his history on it, a filled retirement application form, and an application form for applying for the instructor of the double-oh program, basically consulting the unconfident, inexperienced young agents, also filled, waiting to be signed. The dates on the paper told MI6’s top agent and Q (who had peered over to read the documents) that Bond will be stepping inside MI6 again three months after his retirement starts.

Finally, Bond extended his right hand, which was the only limb he could move now, to his current boss. “Thank you, M.” When M held his hand, he added, “…Both of you.”

Moneypenny was in her killer stilettos the day Bond was discharged, and she carried a box which contained every item Bond owned in MI6. She placed the box at Bond’s bedside and said to him, “Actually, I do recall there should be some other stuff,” in the meanwhile, Bond was trying to get up on one leg and one arm with the help of a cane and Q. “but it’s been too long, and I couldn’t find it. But I think you don’t need them anymore.”

“Eve, if you want to find my belongings, you should’ve gone to Q branch for that. I thought you knew that better than anyone else.” Bond raised an eyebrow and pointed at Q with a smile, and the latter sighed in exasperation. “It’s ok if you pretend you’ve got post-traumatic voice disorders, Bond. ”

Moneypenny made a face. “Fine. Anyways, do give a call when you’re properly healed. We’re going to throw you a farewell party.”

“And then welcome me back in three months. What do you want to do at the party, light up firecrackers? I will be the one to sell you out, and M’s going to fire you.”

“And I will pour gingerbread crumbs on your head. ” Q relied in sync with Moneypenny, who had already stepped out the room but peered back, and cracked up. They both know how much Bond despised Christmas gingerbreads.

Eventually, with Q’s help, Bond slowly limped towards the elevator, and descended the stone-made stairs at the front door one step at a time. The double-oh agent realized one thing in the meantime: his husband was much stronger than he had imagined.

“You’re too heavy,” the Quartermaster complained as he hoisted Bond up with effort when the latter’s whole body leaned on to him, again. “You’ve gained at least ten kilos, Bond, I don’t recall Moneypenny bringing us that much food.”

“You’re in no position to judge me, skinny boy.” The former MI6 agent countered distractedly. He had been devoted to feed his lover for the past four years. “At least my weight’s still within normal limits. I’m curious how you managed to be thin as a match without doing any exercise.”

After descending forty-three steps (“That’s too damn much!” Q complained.) and standing at the concrete before Medical, Bond stared at the two grey, metal doors, lost in his own thoughts. He and Q both knew that this will be the last time he walked out of the building.

The first time Bond woke up in the room smelled of sterilizers, he only saw his IV drop and beeping heart monitor, just like the countless times from then on. He had once thought he’d always open his eyes to an empty room until one day, he won’t be able to wake up again.

Luckily, in the end, he didn’t have to stay here, and he wasn’t alone when he left.

Bond suddenly said, “Q.”

“Yes?”

"I think...maybe I’m really old." Bond was still staring at Medical’s entrance distractedly. “Maybe I can ignore my aging, which is slower compared to others in the first place, but I can’t even finish the job on my own, which is easier than ever. It’s infuriating, but it made me realize that I’m already an old man.”

Bond took a deep breath, and smiled freely. “To be honest, I’ve always known that, as for the only reason that I didn’t want to admit it...I’m afraid it’s you, darling.” He turned to face his Quartermaster with smiling blue eyes, and Q could see the wrinkles carved by time at the corners of his eyes. “You’re still young, Q. You’re much younger than I am. So maybe when you brought up retirement, my subconsciousness told me that if I went with it, I’m going to lose you. You’re gonna leave me, Q, as I have to admit my glory days are behind me and now I’m like an oxydated silver ring thrown away by some dowager. I suppose this is why, Q, this is why.”

Q froze. After a few beats, he spoke with tremors which he didn’t notice in his voice. “And what made you change your mind?”

“Because I know that you’d never do that. Ok, maybe you might, but I know it will have nothing to do with my age. That, I’m sure.” Bond shrugged and lowered his head to press a kiss on the ring that sits on Q’s ring finger. “At least I know you love me. And that’s enough for a lonely, broken old man, I suppose.”

Q lowered his head in silence, but Bond knew that he’s just organizing his thoughts into words, or maybe he’s just making up his mind.

Eventually, Q raised his head to meet his gaze, his green eyes like clear, tranquil ocean. “Bond.”

“Maybe one day you won’t be the hero who saves the day anymore-by the way, it’s a fact that you have to admit whether you’re willing or not-but you're still my agent. Your codename is part of who you are, and as long as you’re still the James Bond I know, I'll always be your Quartermaster. Even if you’re too old to finish your missions now. Even if one day, you'll be too sick to pick up the Walther I made for you and hit the bull’s eye anymore.”

Q awkwardly turned his head sideways and pushed his glasses up reflexively. “I assure you.”

-End-


End file.
